A Gift for Goldenstorm
by Dapper
Summary: A story of friendship and grudging acquaintances, and learning to put aside one's pride. Bezelcob makes a request of his childhood foe, Dolvendusk.


**Title:** A Gift for Goldenstorm

**Author:** dapper scavenger

**Type:** FPS

**Rating:** G

**Warnings:** none

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Creative common license.

**Summary:** A story of friendship and grudging acquaintances, and learning to put aside one's pride. Bezelcob makes a request of his childhood foe, Dolvendusk.

**Author's Note:** One of the first fics I ever wrote, I was unable to post until Misty's recent change of heart on fanfic :)

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Kerr crouched low on his perch in the topmost branches of his bonded's tree. The sun was high in the sky; too hot for flying, perfect for basking in its warm rays. Wings fanned and beak parted, there was nothing more to worry about than keeping a sharp eye out for the little insects that hovered over the heated pools. The other eye could pass the time sleeping. Life was good for the white-fronted falconet.

Another rustle of the bushes below caught his attention. Kerr had spotted the man approaching some time ago and was currently toying with the idea of telling his bonded. The visitor was familiar and certainly no danger, but he sensed there would be trouble if he didn't. His course of action decided, he sent a brief warning. Now he could return to the more important matter of catching dinner.

:._Man comes_!.: Dolvendusk k'Vaia looked up from her work on hearing Kerr's call, receiving with it an image of the visitor, albeit from the great distance and almost vertical angle from which Kerr had been watching. It could be anyone, but then she had never thought herself to be very good at interpreting bird-sight. Not one of her close friends or family though, she mused, watching the falconet drop from the branches and fall into a sleek dive towards the pools. The treetop quivered at the disturbance, shaking loose a few leaves before returning to its stoic serenity. Kerr had special names for those few he deigned to acknowledge. Vain little creature!

She leaned back from the workbench with a small sigh, shrugging loose her cramped shoulder muscles. It was too easy to get caught up in what she was doing and forget to take a break. On the plus side, she was usually pleasantly surprised at how quickly she finished. Absently rubbing her forearm where the grain of the wood had left an impression in the skin, she wondered if it was perhaps Ashgale, the smith, come with the arrowheads she'd traded for last week. He was early, if so. She frowned, looking over the unfinished shafts on the workbench – a half-done job was downright frustrating.

As she moved through to the reception area of her ekele she soon realised that her visitor had neither Ashgale's build nor style of clothing; the smith's imposing muscular frame was unmistakable. Her guest was taller, with a familiar gangly, coltish gait largely obscured by the flowing green and bronze folds of a mage's robes. Ashgale would never wear robes that might catch in the flames of the forge. In fact, if she didn't know better, she would have said it was Bezelcob. She stopped in surprise and took a closer look. Bezelcob! What was he doing here? Irritation welled up and she caught herself pursing her lips apprehensively. Though time had mellowed her dislike she rarely found cause to seek out her childhood bane. As a scout she had less need of the trinkets Bezelcob fashioned; such gems would only catch the light and compromise her hunting skills. In fairness, her rational mind knew he was no longer the bully she remembered, but Dolvendusk held it her prerogative to be completely irrational now and then. Pride would not allow her to behave ungraciously towards a guest, however, and so it was Bezelcob found himself politely received into her home.

"Bezelcob." She started by way of terse greeting, proffering forth an empty cup with a questioning lift of her eyebrows. He had grown into his height, admittedly, filling out around the face. Most distinctive were his strong, square jaw and a high forehead that rose above determined, deep-set eyes. It was not an altogether unattractive package though it was obvious he dyed his hair for vanity's sake. The trademark white flecks of a mage, even those of a mere journeyman, were apparent in his eyes. While Bezelcob was not a large practitioner of magic, he was almost permanently resident in the magic-steeped vale and bleached faster than scouts such as her. He was wise to use dye, she thought. White eyebrows would look positively ridiculous on him.

"Thank you." Bezelcob replied simply, accepting the cup of spiced tea she had offered with a curt nod. He was not so dense as to miss the tense welcome or critical inspection. Best to lay his cards on the table. "No doubt you are wondering why I'm here," he began, smirking inwardly at her expectant, sceptical nod. "I need your help."

Dolvendusk blinked.

After a moments awkward silence Bezelcob produced a pouch from his robes and up-ended the contents into the palm of his hand. Small flashes of gold piqued her curiosity and she leaned forward to inspect the bright objects - three tiny amber brooches, in the form of arrows. They were beautifully crafted, flawlessly smooth and polished to a shine. He must have worked for days on these. Yet they were incomplete. _Uh-oh_, thought Dolvendusk.

"I want you to fletch them"

_Should've seen that coming_, she thought, backing away a step. "You're insane. They're too small - I'd ruin them. Besides, there are half a dozen better fletchers in the vale than me!"

"There are three," he quickly rebutted. "Cinderstar is nursing her newborn, Greybird is on an extended scouting trip and…" he hesitated "… I would not want to trouble Cedardance." He watched carefully as Dolvendusk's features softened. She looked so much better when her face wasn't screwed up into a hundred lines. He allowed her to pick out one of the brooches and turn it over in thoughtful inspection.

"It might be possible," she ceded grudgingly. "I assume you want the fletching to match?" Bezelcob nodded.

"Yes, gold feathers and also some of Vir's. They are for Goldenstorm" he answered by way of explanation. Bezelcob had been with beautiful, impetuous, short-tempered and nauseatingly talented Goldenstorm for some time. Dolvendusk wrinkled her nose in a fit of jealous disgust. While her best friend was far from perfect, Goldenstorm certainly could make her feel inadequate sometimes. Feathers from Vir, Bezelcob's own bondbird, could be a sign of something significant and, although their relationship was far from secret, she had no idea they were this serious about each other. She wasn't sure she was at all happy about it either – what did Goldenstorm see in him?

"In that case, you had better meet me tomorrow morning for a two day trip. That should be enough time to find feathers of the perfect colouring, don't you think?" she answered with feigned sweetness, and then watched as Bezelcob's eyes widened. Oh, how delightful it was to see his sudden realisation, to see his mind working frantically to figure out how exactly he'd managed to get into this predicament and if he could get out of it. He couldn't, obviously, not without belittling the meaning of his intended gift. Bezelcob hated leaving the comforts of the vale. It was fair, she thought, suppressing a twinge of guilt. After all, he had been verging on emotional blackmail by mentioning Cedardance. She had turned the tables on him quite neatly.

"Tomorrow morning. Thank you for the tea." he sighed, resigning himself to his fate. If only Goldenstorm realised the things he did for her!

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Her parent's ekele was quite close to her own and so Dolvendusk set a deliberately slow pace. She needed the time to collect her thoughts. Visiting her father, Cedardance, was a private ritual she always performed before going away. Like most rituals, each part was precisely played out: the short yet brooding journey, the curt cautions from her mother and the meaningless banter that carefully masked her concern. She hadn't always been so vigilant, possessing the blissful ignorance of a child confident in her parents' immortality. One day she had returned from a two week scouting trip to discover that her father had taken ill. He had suffered a weakness of the heart two days after she had left, so there would have been time to send someone after her. He had forbidden it!

She frowned angrily at the memory. How could he have done that to her? At first she'd been too worried to be upset, which was probably a good thing. It would have done his heart no good at all to have entered his ekele demanding an explanation, in his convalescing state. After the panic and fear had subsided though, she had felt somehow betrayed. Why he had done it was obvious, in hindsight. Cedardance had only sought to keep her from fretting. '_Isn't it my right to be worried for him? Why must he be so overprotective of me?'_

She sighed. In all honesty she admired his protective streak, his stubborn pride… so many things about him. Sometimes she wondered if she would have done the same thing in his position. Now though, she couldn't trust him not to do it again but couldn't bring herself to broach the subject for fear of upsetting him.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of approaching laughter. Oddly resentful of such a happy sound piercing her melancholy bubble, she peered along the length of the path, attempting to discover its source. She didn't have to wait long - a moment later two giggling blurs of colour raced past, forcing her to pull up short and swiftly step aside.

"Watch out!" she yelled after them. It was young Nutcup and Blackspot – poor Blackspot, whose parents had named him for a fungus that plagued leaves in clear, warm air. What had they been thinking? Dolvendusk smiled wryly, suddenly glad for the distraction. Her father must have been teaching again. The illness had taken its toll, leaving him short of breath, so her rather formidable mother, Dreamtide, had persuaded him to spend more time in the vale. Never one for idleness, Cedardance had taken to teaching the potential scouts of the clan. It wasn't in him to suffer the indignity of feeling redundant and the classes were a welcome break for frazzled parents.

She rounded the corner to her parent's ekele, the black stones on the path indicating a private area. The ekele had been moved to ground level for Cedardance, allowing a most beautiful arrangement of creeping flowers to weave around the structure. Her mother must have had a hand in the overall design, with soothing broad-leaved greens effectively sheltering the area, interspersed with warm, relaxing blooms of yellow and gold. As a healer she would have an idea of the kinds of colours and scents that encourage calm. No doubt she consulted a specialist about the matter.

Dreamtide wasn't here, for once, Dolvendusk realised with faint surprise. As with many children, she was often surprised when her parents demonstrated that they did, indeed, have a life that did not revolve around her. She continued somewhat abashed at her own egotism. As if a healer had nothing better to do! Dreamtide had gotten her name from her skill; in her youth she had convinced an unconscious and badly injured patient to live and in so doing 'turned the tide' of the battle. Her own name had no such grand origins, coming from her curious nature and love of sunsets. It was infinitely better than 'Littlemoth' at any rate!

"Dolvendusk!" she heard her father call and turned in time to see him exit the ekele. "How are you? It's good to see you still have time to visit your old man now and then." he admonished with a twinkle in his eye. The little laughter lines at the corner of his eyes deepened when he laughed, adding to the hundred other creases on the rugged, weather-beaten features, though his animated expression seemed to defy all other physical signs of aging. Most noticeable of which was his hair, that had thinned to the point where she could see the three parallel scars on his skull – a remnant from a long past misadventure. Dolvendusk grinned.

"Not too bad, not too bad. Kerr's being his usual self, mind, crazy featherhead." The vain bird was well known for his brazen and bossy behaviour, even towards bondbirds twice his size.

"You're well suited" Cedardance retorted, receiving a dirty look for the comment.

"I'm not that bad!" came the exasperated reply. "You can't talk. You're the one who raised me, you intractable, cantankerous old man. Everything I learnt I learnt from you." In that, at least, she was serious. She was well aware that she idolised her father and that had shaped her choice to follow in his footsteps. Cedardance seemed to sense the sober thought.

"No, girl. I only showed you the way. You travelled your own path, did it all yourself. I'm proud of you, I am." Dolvendusk ducked her head in embarrassment.

"That doesn't mean I need you to stop showing me though." She smiled slightly. "I have had an… interesting challenge put to me. Thought you might be able to help."

"Well, doesn't that sound intriguing? Come inside, then. You can tell me all about it over dinner."

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Bezelcob glared at his companion non-too discreetly. How could she look so comfortable in this abominable situation? No doubt she thought it highly amusing to see him soaked to the bone and freezing stiff. The stormy weather had rolled in slightly quicker than expected. There had been just enough time to finish erecting the makeshift shelter, swift with practise though they were. It was a simple design – a sturdy branch supported horizontally between two close standing trees, with a toughened, waterproofed hide stretched taut over it and angled to the ground. Large, rattan-like leaves were folded over and laid across the open sides, so that the grooves in the leaves would channel the rain away. The reward was well worth suffering the sharp thorns of the ferny plant. Although it seemed to him that she had enjoyed his suffering a bit too much.

Dolvendusk sat cross-legged with her little bondbird huddled contentedly in the crook of her elbow for warmth. He wished his Vir could do that. Currently the Northern Goshawk was sheltering as best he could he could in the trees, while sending a torrent of complaints to his bonded. They would find no golden feathers today.

He glanced over at his pensive companion, wondering what she was thinking about. It seemed to him that Dolvendusk was always thinking of something and rarely was it the task at hand. A better name for her might've been Stresshead or Cloudbrains, he smirked. He remembered her when she'd been all angles, a skinny little thing with large, watchful eyes. She hadn't been a very loud child, but her tongue was sharp enough. Still was, he thought glumly.

She wasn't small anymore. Somewhere along the line she'd had a growth spurt and, while not as tall as himself, certainly towered over the petite, delicately featured Goldenstorm. There was little delicate about Dolvendusk. Though slender, her years of scouting had added muscle and definition to her build. Where Goldenstorm's movements were quick and sharp, Dolvendusk tended to move as if in a daydream, adding to her ponderous demeanour. She was not so much slothful as _careful, _each motion filled with graceful deliberation. A good scout would have to have such subconscious control of their body, to move silently through the forest. Her face was long, with the elegant high cheekbones that were characteristic of the Tayledras. Her nose was long also, and although it lacked a refined point, it had a certain loveliness. A small mole graced the left side of her face, between her pale lips and her chin, marring an otherwise clear complexion. Dark blue eyes stared out from beneath strands of hair dyed a mottled black-brown-russet, strategically held back in places with braided quartz beads. Her front teeth were slightly crooked, though not obscenely so, and were most obvious when she smiled. In fact, Bezelcob thought, it was a face at its most lovely when at its most playful. A slight upturn of her lips and a wicked glint to her eye brought her features to life. Dolvendusk would never have Goldenstorm's true beauty, but he still found himself wondering why she hadn't partnered with anyone yet.

"What are you staring at?" Bezelcob's musings were rudely interrupted. He glared at his companion, annoyed at having been caught.

"The skinny little whelp that broke my toe."

"Don't blame me for that! If you hadn't kicked over all my castles I wouldn't have been forced to put a rock in one of them," she retorted, referring to the constructions of mud and grasses that they built as children. "Besides, right now you owe me. As much as I adore your beloved I'm not exactly helping you out of the goodness of my heart."

"Hah, like you have any of that." It was Dolvendusk's turn to glare as he snickered. "Just what was so fascinating anyway?"

"Hmm? Oh. If you must know I was considering what kind of glue to use. I don't think tree gum will be waterproof enough and bone glue might be too thick to apply in prudent amounts. I'll probably dig up some bulbs while we're out." She bit back a laugh. In actuality, the glue might be harder to find than the bird. She could probably have found a golden bird such as a hummingbird or an oriole through mindspeech, but it was difficult to single out one from the hundreds in the trees.

Bezelcob was silently impressed with how seriously she was taking the task despite their less than affable relationship. A vale wasn't a large community and it was important to keep any enmities in check, lest they grew large enough to cause unrest among the population as a whole. He mulled over that thought for some time; they may not like each other very much… but they could rely on each other.

"I think the weather's easing up," Dolvendusk chanced a peek outside. "Shouldn't be long before we can get going. Don't know about you but all this sitting about doing nothing is making me crazy!"

He held back the obvious retort.

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It was a wetter, muddier trail that the two hawkbrothers found themselves travelling. Dolvendusk had located a veritable carpet of blooms that were borne by the kind of bulbs they sought, though it had required a tiring trek up a long incline to find the sun-loving plants. They had dug up only a few. Discreet harvesting was a fundamental custom of the Tayledras way of life - taking a few berries or leaves from a number of plants rather than stripping one bare, to sustain the crop for the future. Where possible every part of the plant was used, whether for food, a dye or a medicine. She couldn't make the dye or medicines herself but she knew enough to pass on the right ingredients to the right people.

The rains had brought out the wildfowl and she availed herself of the opportunity, bagging two plump birds. Mushrooms would flourish soon, feeding on the now moist, decaying timbers. The forest was beautiful after the rains, she inhaled deeply, so fresh and clear and full of life. Bezelcob, for his part, couldn't wait to get back and bathe in a nice, hot spring. He was certain he would never get the mud out of his clothes. Vir's sharp eyes would've been useful, he sighed, restlessly scanning the tree line for any flicker of yellow, but the hungry bird was off hunting for himself.

"There!" he cried out abruptly. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something, and heard the glorious fluting of a male. He turned towards it excitedly and full of triumph that HE had been the one to spot it first, when suddenly the trail gave way beneath his feet. For a moment he seemed to hang in midair and he grasped the steadying hand of Dolvendusk, who had reached out to catch him, but then the root supporting his other foot split under the pressure, sending both of them sliding, tumbling and crashing down the hill.

Bezelcob flailed wildly, cutting his hands on roots and rocks as he tried to stop his chaotic plummeting. Panicked thoughts flashed through his mind as the uncontrolled fall showed no sign of stopping, until, slowly, the ground began to level out into a gentle slope and his descent petered out, leaving a gasping, wide-eyed pile of man-shaped limbs in its wake…

"You idiot," groaned a dazed and bruised Bezelcob. "Oh, I have an idea – let's throw ourselves down a hill! Won't that be fun?"

The alarmed _ky-kying _of the two bondbirds spiked through his throbbing head, making him wince and cutting short his sarcastic tirade. A moment was spent soothing their nerves before he rolled over and sat up, touching his head gingerly. Fortunately there was more mud than blood but the dull ache and sluggishness was almost as perturbing as Dolvendusk's lack of reply. With some effort, he managed to half-slide, half-crawl down to her.

"Hey, 'Dusk!" he yelled, slapping her sharply on the cheek. "Wake up!" To his immense relief he was rewarded with a flicker of her eyelids and a small moan. Thank the Lady! A quick assessment revealed no obvious injuries, but he didn't want to take any chances.

:._Vir, fetch help. Fetch Dreamtide_.: he sent to his anxiously circling bondbird. Hopefully they should realise that a healer would be needed when Vir turned up at her ekele, rather than at any of the scouts'. Kerr could stay behind to pinpoint their position.

It was fairly obvious that they weren't going anywhere. Even if he were unharmed he would not have risked moving an unconscious body with unknown injuries. While he could identify a broken arm or burn, he was no healer. Far more prudent to wait for help, especially with these feelings of light-headedness. With a shake of his head, he set about tending their wounds as best he could. His pack had survived the fall, though he couldn't see his companion's, and it contained clean cloth that could be wound tightly around a bleed to stem its flow. He wasn't overly worried; Dolvendusk's breathing was steady and it would not take more than a few hours for help to arrive. It was more, well, embarrassing really.

It was only then that the adrenaline suddenly wore out, leaving him feeling weak and shaky and cold, thinking of all the ways in which it could have been worse. He managed to coax a flame out of the few grasses and twigs not thoroughly soaked by the rain, with the help of a few sacrificed items from his pack. Hopefully the fire would have enough energy to dry out the larger pieces of wood – he was far too tired to trust his magic to do it. As he sat waiting for Vir to bring the others, staring into the flame and generally feeling sorry for himself, a glinting teased at his peripheral vision. He followed it with his eyes to where it lay, partway up the incline they had ungracefully travelled, a burnished gold reflected by the firelight. Bezelcob blinked in disbelief. There, as if in recompense, lay a nest lined with golden-yellow feathers. Somehow they must have dislodged the home of the ground-nesting bird and brought it with them. Were it not for his aching head, he would have laughed.

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Faint murmurings seemed to wake Dolvendusk from her slumber, or perhaps the muffled conversation was merely coincidental to her rousing. Regardless, it was annoying. She was so very warm and sleepy, and certainly didn't feel like getting up! She clung to the hope that the voices would go away soon, leaving her to drowse, but then the dull sound of footsteps grew gradually heavier and although she had not yet opened her eyes, she just _knew _someone was standing over her.

"Well. That's another fine mess you've gotten yourself into." Dolvendusk cracked an eye open carefully, grunted noncommittally and promptly shut it again. Of all people, her mother - _someone 'up there' must hate me_ - she thought dolefully.

"Come on, up with you," came Dreamtide's no-nonsense tones. "I'll not have you cluttering up my space when there's work to be done." Dolvendusk heaved a sulky sigh and forced her eyes open, propping herself up on one elbow. Well, she knew where she was, at least, and was pleased to see her pack at the foot of the bed. Moreover, she was surprised to see the golden feathers laying atop it! Yet she couldn't remember anything after that idiot Bezelcob threw her down that hill. She glanced quizzically towards Dreamtide.

"Bezelcob sent Vir for help. Now there's a boy with some sense: not like you – you'd have tried to carry on yourself and probably killed yourself doing it. You should be thankful." Dolvendusk cringed inwardly at the truth of it. "He sorted you out until we could get you back to the vale, and did a very neat job of binding your wounds, I might add," her mother continued, oblivious to Dolvendusk's sour expression.

She was supposed to be good at survival skills, not Bezelcob, yet she'd been the one who'd hit her head and he'd been the one that had to take care of her. It was all so abominably unfair! Still, she felt a sort of grudging respect reluctantly simmering beneath the surface of resentment. At least he would be able to take care of himself, and Goldenstorm, if it came to it. He was a steady kind of chap, she supposed, which would counter Goldenstorm's flightiness. She sniffed, feeling a little put out. It really wasn't her choice anyway; if Goldenstorm wanted the crazy mud-loving fool, she could have him. For her part, a bath would be good right about now. Throwing back the covers she swung her legs to the floor, only to yelp from a surprising nip of pain.

"Oh yes," Dreamtide turned back, offering a wooden staff that looked suspiciously like a crutch. "You'll need this."

Dolvendusk looked at her left foot in disbelief, and let out an angry, incredulous cry…

"_He broke my TOE?"_

The End.

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